The Surrogate
by Burked
Summary: G/S in reality, but G/LH situation. Lady Heather has more insights for Grissom to value, as the night turns to day.


**Title:**               Surrogate

**Author:**           Burked

**Spoilers:**         Slaves of Las Vegas, Lady Heather's Box

**Rating:            **PG for oblique sexual references

**Dislaimers:     **If I owned CSI and its characters, I wouldn't have to write stories like this to attempt to make sense of the episodes, so obviously I don't.  

**Summary:**       G/S in reality, but G/LH situation.  Lady Heather has more "insights" for Grissom to value, as the night turns to day.

[G/S shippers, don't despair.  I have not turned to the Dark Side.  Just read it all the way through before you begin plotting my demise.]

"Guilt?  Regret, Mr. Grissom?"  Her sultry voice spoke slowly, not from ignorance or laziness, but from years of practice.  

He sat on the edge of the bed, bent over away from her, head in his hands, not answering.  

"You have no reason to feel those things, you know.  Those emotions are for when you harm someone," she intoned gently, slowly moving, inches at a time, across the bed towards him, almost imperceptibly.

He lifted his head up, leaning it back to take in a deep breath, then slowly shook it from side to side, unbelieving at what he had done, what he had become.

"You've hurt no one," she reiterated, lifting a hand to place on the back of his shoulder.

At her touch, he recoiled, leaving her arm to drop of its own accord.

"I've hurt myself, if no one else," he snapped.

"How so?  You came here with a need.  That need has been fulfilled.  Unless you tell them, no one else will know," she spoke soothingly.

"I'll know," he rejoined.

"Yes, but you and I will be the only ones who know about it.  Like everything else about you."

"You think you know me," he stated sarcastically.

"I know more about you than the others do, that much is certain," she answered calmly, shifting her head to the side.

"You only know the outside, the physical part of me."

"Even that's more than they know, isn't it?" she asked, reaching out to run a finger down his arm.  "But I know more of the inside as well."

"All right, Lady Heather.  Tell me what you _think_ you know about me," he finally conceded, pulling away from her.

"I told you long ago that what you fear most is being known.  I even know _what_ you fear they will know.  I'm not sure why you are so afraid, though.  I have my own theory, of course, but I haven't known you long enough to be sure."

"And what is it I fear being known?"

"You fear that they will find out that you are not at all the man they think you are.  I have seen you around them, and you pretend to be one thing, when in fact you are completely different."

"You still haven't told me," he said impatiently, slowly beginning to gather his clothes, looking at them as though they had abandoned him, leaving him to this fate.

"Would it be so bad for them know that you are a man of such incredible depth of emotion?  Why do you pretend to be unfeeling and insensitive?  You have convinced them that you are emotionally stunted, when in fact you feel more than most of them put together."

He turned to her in surprise, his normally dark blue eyes turning pale, his mouth barely open, as though to speak.

"It must be incredibly difficult to do the work you do, experiencing emotions to the depth you do, without sharing them with anyone.  It would take inordinate strength."  As a practitioner of domination, she nodded her admiration.

"It would be counterproductive to become emotionally involved," he told her, as if memorized by rote.

"But you do, nonetheless.  You just suppress the _expression_ of it.  Why?"

"I told you, emotion would be counterproductive.  We must remain objective," came the practiced response.

"One can be objective and still exhibit emotions, Mr. Grissom."

"If you become involved, I mean with the victims, you cannot let them go.  They will haunt you."

"So you are not haunted?" she asked him, noting his Freudian slip.

He didn't answer her, which was answer enough.

"Do you have to try to suppress all of them, all of the time?" she questioned him.

"It would seem so," he signed, buttoning his shirt, stopping to reflect.

"Even with her?" she probed.

Startled, he turned back to face her again, searching her face.  "With whom?" he asked.

"Her.  Whoever the other one is.  I don't know her name.  Not Ms. Willows.  I've met her and I've seen you two together.  She thinks she knows you, but she only knows the deepest parts of the façade you constructed.  Very clever of you, by the way," she nodded again, and raised an eyebrow in appreciation.

"I don't know who you are talking about," he evaded.

"The one you fantasized about while you were here with me," she stated simply, without hurt or judgment.  "I was a surrogate for somebody.  Someone you have many profound emotions toward."

He lowered his face and rubbed each side of it roughly with his hands, finally running his fingers back through his hair, as though he could rid himself of his thoughts with his touch.

"Whoever she is, you have a great deal of passion regarding her.  I don't suppose she knows that, does she?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," he said, picking up a shoe and worrying with the laces, which seemed too complicated to remember how to deal with at the moment.

"The first time, you were very angry.  You used sex more like a weapon."

"Do we have to dissect the evening?  I really don't feel the need to talk about this.  I'm having a hard enough time accepting it, I don't want to analyze it as well."

"Not very scientific of you, Mr. Grissom," she chided.

"I'm not feeling very scientific at the moment, so you'll have to excuse me," he answered curtly.

"If you look at it all logically, you'll understand yourself more and feel better about it."

"Sex is not about logic, Lady Heather.  It is, in fact, an antithesis of logic."

"But you can look at your actions and your motivations logically, even if the outcome seems illogical to you," she countered.

He sighed deeply.  He wanted to run, fast and far, finding a hiding place where no human being would ever bother him again.  He could feel whatever he wanted to, with no one there to judge him, analyze him, or think they knew him.  

But, knowing he couldn't, he was desperate to put his uncharacteristic lack of control into some sort of context, and if she thought she could help, then he would listen.  At least for the moment.  So he considered her words about how he had behaved earlier.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked quietly.  

"No, of course not," she laughed.  "You might feel better if you had.  You have a great deal of anger stored up for her and you should get that fury out in a nondestructive manner.  You certainly would not want to take it out on her."

"How would hurting you be helpful and nondestructive?" he asked incredulously.  "I've never raised my hand to a woman, and I never will."

"I know that you feel that way, but you must be aware that you can be more hurtful to her with your words and your actions than you could ever be with your hands."

"I don't agree with your premise."

"That is what we do here, Mr. Grissom.  We allow people to work out guilt or anger, whichever the case, so that they do not let it spill out in their everyday lives.  It is a release, a catharsis."

"I am not a client of yours, Lady Heather," he responded indignantly.

"No, you are a personal challenge, Mr. Grissom," she chuckled.  "And you are missing the point.  The highest order of dominance and submission has nothing to do with inflicting or receiving pain as a control.  It is about dominating by sheer force of emotion.  Love as the ultimate power over someone ... but not to hurt them," she added quickly.  "It is a control they willingly give."

He was looking at her with confusion twisting his face.

"When you were here on the Mona's case last year, I told you that the wife, the dominant one in their relationship, was looking for an alpha male, so that she didn't have to be dominant anymore."

"I remember.  I also remember that you had a wistful look on your face, as though you wished you could find someone who could dominate you.  Sorry to have disappointed you."

"Quite the contrary, Mr. Grissom.  That is what I find fascinating about you.  You are dominant without having to resort to the vulgar physical manifestations.  There is not a man alive who could control me with physical pain.  I have become immune to that over the years.  But you ... you are different."

"I don't want to control you, or anyone else," he stated flatly.

"Are you so sure about that?" she interrogated.  "You are angry with her because she is uncontrollable, at least recently.  Isn't that right?"

"No.  I don't want to control her."

"You used to control the interaction between you, didn't you?  Then you lost your power over her.  And how do you seek to dominate her now?" she pressed, ignoring his protestations.

"I used to have some control over our situation, but not anymore.  I steer clear of her now, so I could hardly be accused of trying to control her."

"When the connection between two people is on a deep emotional level, that is the harshest punishment possible.  It would seem you have a cruel streak, Mr. Grissom.  If you were to ask her, I would imagine she would rather you strike her than ignore her."

"You don't know Sara.  She'd hit me back," he chortled.  "Or shoot me."

"Then you'd both probably feel better," she smiled.  "I'm glad she has a name now.  I was getting tired of calling the other one 'her' all the time."

Heather had accomplished something no one had ever done – gotten Grissom to name the object of much of his emotional energies.  He wasn't sure why he was able, after minimal prodding, to talk about Sara with Heather.  Maybe because she wasn't a friend of his, not a co-worker.  She didn't know Sara, nor would she be likely to meet her.  She didn't judge.  In this sense, as well as others, she didn't seem like much of a risk.  He had held it all in too long, it seemed, until sometimes he felt he would burst.

Lady Heather continued, "I'm not judging you for your cruelty.  If that is what you feel, then that is naturally what you express.  I'm only hoping that you will recognize it for what it is.  If that is your weapon of choice, learn to wield it skillfully to inflict the right amount of pain.  Don't bandy it about unthinkingly, until you destroy that which you only intended to torture."

"I'm not trying to torture her," he defended himself.

"But of course you are.  There can be no other viable motive.  You feel anger and you wish to punish her for making you feel that way.  Even if you don't think you can control her actions, you do want to control how she makes you feel."

"I wish _I_ could control how I feel."

"You can't seem to decide whose fault it is, so you punish yourself and her both with your avoidance."

"I don't seem to have the capacity for control you think I have, or I wouldn't feel the need to punish myself or anyone else."

"Maybe you are using the wrong weapon," she answered cryptically.

Letting the silence settle for a moment, she began to speak again, but her tone changed to be much softer, almost reverential.  "The second time was gentle.  The anger was gone, leaving nothing but the adoration.  You love Sara without bounds."

"Yes," he answered quietly.  "I could easily get lost in her, if I weren't careful."

"The anger helps you deal with that, doesn't it?  It balances it out so that you don't feel lost and out of control.  The more you grow to love her, the more you find yourself being angry with her."

"Lady Heather, have you ever thought about becoming a therapist?" he asked suddenly, with a twisted smile.

"Do they make just over a million dollars a year?" she asked crassly.

"Not many of them," he acknowledged.

"Does that answer your question, then?" she laughed.

Their laughter had broken the tension that had been building as she had forced him to put words to feelings.

"What I think you should do is work out the rage elsewhere, and work out the love with Sara.  I'd be perfectly willing to help you with your anger management," she offered suggestively.

"If only it were that easy.  If I open up to one emotion, I will not be able to control all the rest.  It's all or nothing.  ... But I've been paying attention to the things you've taught me.  You told me that I'm dominant because of the depth of my feelings.  But we both know that the dominant isn't the one with the power."

"So true, Mr. Grissom.  Not that I ever see you being interested in someone who's not very strong in her own right, but in this particular dynamic, you are still probably dominant.  If so, you are correct.  She is the one with the power because she can choose whether or not you are in control.  It is entirely her choice.  I wonder if she knows that?" Heather mused.

"She knows," he nodded contemplatively.  "She at least knows that she has the power to repay me for the pain and anger she's endured.  Maybe our roles are reversing," he considered thoughtfully.  That would leave him with the power to choose – submit to her charms or continue to be punished.

"The night is in the past, and it's a beautiful day, Mr. Grissom," she said, throwing open the curtains to let in the light.  "Would you like some tea before you go?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," he accepted graciously.


End file.
